Healing Hands
by Melanie Athene
Summary: For the first time, Mary began to truly believe that the strange man in the rumpled trench coat might really be the angel that he claimed to be. Spoiler alert: missing scene from 12x02.


Silence reigned for long, uncomfortable minutes following the departure of Mick and the Lady who was no lady (at least as far as the Winchesters were concerned).

Dean held Castiel's gaze, waiting until the angel nodded, indicating that the Brits had actually left, before he allowed himself to speak.

"Help them," was all he said then, gesturing to his mother and brother.

Again, Castiel nodded and swiftly crossed the room, stretching a hand towards Mary. Not surprisingly, she shied away, a hunter's innate caution flaring in the too close presence of an unknown entity. Castiel's hand froze, suspended in mid air. Uncertainly, he looked back to Dean.

"Sam first." Dean broke the awkward moment.

Mary frowned as the angel smoothly changed direction and reached out to her younger son. Her frown deepened as Sam trustingly leaned into the touch, Castiel's palm coming to rest on his broad forehead. Cuts and bruises disappeared. Sam released his tight grip on his injured arm, the tautness of his mouth relaxing as all traces of the excruciating pain he had endured ebbed away.

For the first time, Mary began to truly believe that the strange man in the rumpled trench coat might really be the angel that he claimed to be.

"If I may?" Castiel once again approached her, his hand extended in the semblance of a two fingered Boy Scout salute.

This time, Mary held her ground and gave a sharp nod of assent.

His touch was light, yet firm. A wave of indescribable energy passed from the angel to the woman, and she felt her injuries vanish as if they'd never been. A tingling trace of warmth lingered as he drew back his hand, and she smiled, pleased to see an answering smile flit across his normally implacable face.

"Thank you," she said, and meant it.

But Castiel was already moving away, sure footsteps carrying him towards her elder son.

"Dean," he intoned.

Dean shook his head. "I'm fine, Cas." He shrugged and glanced at his mother. "Just banged up a little."

" _Dean_ ," Castiel repeated, in a tone that sent a shiver down Mary's spine. It had a similar effect on Dean, it would seem, for the hunter sighed and resolutely shifted his eyes to meet the angel's as he crossed the floor and stood before him. Castiel's hand fit the curve of Dean's cheek as if it were a missing puzzle piece locking into place. The thumb of his other hand traced the blood on Dean's split lip, lingering there for a few seconds after the cut faded.

Mary's mind cast back in time to the moment in the bunker, when the angel had all but tumbled into Dean's arms... and those arms had opened wide to receive him.

"Hm," she said.

"You get used to it," Sam murmured, and Mary's gaze travelled up and up until it reached his face. Her boy. Her baby boy. Flesh of her flesh, though for now he wore the guise of a stranger. Sam nodded towards his brother, and her eyes followed his back to Castiel and Dean.

Castiel's hands had finally dropped back to his sides, but his feet hadn't moved an inch. Nor had Dean advanced or retreated. Instead, they stood locked in a stare. A stare so intimate and intense that the rest of the world fell away, leaving them to their silent communion.

The softening of the angel's gaze as he looked upon her son was unmistakable.

"Does he know?" she asked. "Does he know that angel loves him?"

"I don't know," Sam replied. "It's obvious to everyone else, but Dean has always seemed oblivious."

Dean blinked, and the moment ended. Castiel stepped back. "You should return to the bunker," he advised, his face once more blank and calm in that unearthly way that made Mary's hackles rise.

"You mean _we_ should," Dean countered. "You're coming with us, Cas."

"There are things that I must do."

"But, Cas..."

Again the angel's face softened. Less perceptibly so this time, but already Mary was becoming more adept at reading his expressions.

"You and Sam need time alone with your mother. Family time. I will meet up with you later." Without waiting for an answer or bothering with a farewell, he turned and walked away, quick strides carrying him through the doorway.

Dean stood looking after him, unmoving, until the faint cough of an engine starting marked the departure of his stolen truck.

"He knows," Mary whispered. Hunter's instincts – or a mother's intuition? Either or both, the answer to her question was suddenly, abundantly, clear. _Dean knows. And he loves him too._


End file.
